


synthpathies

by Saengak



Series: GilHanne collection [3]
Category: Fallout 4, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24716647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saengak/pseuds/Saengak
Summary: After Hanneman throws himself in front of a deathclaw attack meant for Gilbert, the doctor that Gilbert brings him to makes some unfortunate observations...(A short snippet of a Fallout 4 AU idea.)
Relationships: Hanneman von Essar/Gilbert Pronislav
Series: GilHanne collection [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787005
Kudos: 3





	synthpathies

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to check out the lovely art my friend TimetheHobo made! :D  
> https://timethehobo.tumblr.com/post/620905531820883968/just-some-fallout-4-x-gilhanne-fe3h-au-from

“Let me ask you something, Mr Pronislav.” The corners of the doctor’s eyes crease with sympathy even as he spits the words past a grimace. “You say he was injured by a deathclaw three days ago?”

The constant vice of worry that had been wrapped around Gilbert’s heart tightens. He’s had too much bad news; he can’t lose Hanneman. Glancing at the man who’s sitting on the edge of the examination table with his shoulders hunched and face turned away, Gilbert grits his teeth and answers. “Three days ago, doctor. Tell me you have something for the infection—some antibiotic?”

“He doesn’t need it. He’s a synth.”

The curl of disgust that lifts the doctor’s lip has Gilbert shouldering his way to Hanneman’s side before he even fully processes the full implications of the doctor’s words. “Put your shirt on,” Gilbert orders, tossing Hanneman’s worn clothes to him. “We’re leaving.”

The doctor shrugs and turns back to his medicine cabinet; they’ve already paid, after all. “I’m sorry he’s tricked you, Mr Pronislav, but don’t come back.”

Wrapping his arm around Hanneman’s slumped shoulders, Gilbert storms out of the rundown shack. “Complete lack of professionalism,” Gilbert mutters angrily under his breath. “We’ll get you a better doctor, Hanneman. I’m sorry that you had to hear that. Did he hurt you?”

The corner of Gilbert’s jacket crumples in Hanneman’s grip. “No, no…”

Looking down at the other man’s bowed head, Gilbert slows down and frowns. He can feel the suspicious gazes of the settlers’ around them, heavy like the heat of the sun bearing down on them. “Don’t worry, we’ll be out of here soon.” Hanneman is handy with the knife, and with a revolver in his belt and a hefty axe strapped to his back, Gilbert can take down more than a few synth haters.

Hanneman, a synth! Gilbert scoffs silently to himself. Just because he’s a little quirky doesn’t mean he’s a robot. Amongst all the raving lunatics in this postapocalyptic world, his companion is the most well adjusted of the lot. Gilbert should have taken the antibiotics anyway. If not for the fact that they’d most certainly be set upon the entire settlement, he would have done it.

* * *

They set up camp for the night in an abandoned convenience shop, where all the shelves have been picked clean and the refrigerators stand empty. Hanneman and Gilbert block the entranceways the best they can to keep out the mutant beasts and bed down in a corner, a single heavy blanket shared between the two of them.

“Let me see your wound before it gets dark,” Gilbert murmurs, shuffling closer to his companion. The ashen-haired man looks up from the neat tiny stitches that he’s putting into his torn jacket, his eyes solemn.

“It’s alright, the doctor said there’s no infection. It’ll heal on its own.”

“Are you sure?” he presses. He’s fussing, he knows, like the worst mother hen there could be, but he can’t help it. Smoothing up Hanneman’s fringe of messy, ashen-grey hair, he feels his forehead for a temperature.

Instead of squirming away and giving Gilbert his usual shy smile, Hanneman’s grip on the needle turns white-knuckled. Gilbert eyes the way he’s holding it, as if he could stab someone with it. “Gilbert…” His attention snaps back in time to catch the bob of Hanneman’s throat. “What if he’s right? What if I’m really a synth?”

“No, don’t listen to that bastard,” he protests immediately, his brow creasing in a deep frown. A shudder passes through Hanneman’s body and Gilbert wraps his arm around his friend’s waist. When he buries his face against his shoulder, he’s soft and warm, smelling of earth and sweat and the dust of the road—how can he be an android?

But Hanneman clearly doesn’t think so. “Gen 3 synths are indistinguishable for humans, except for the fact that they don’t get sick, they don’t need sleep, they don’t need to eat or drink—”

“But you do,” Gilbert interrupts, lifting his head and fixing Hanneman with his most earnest stare. “ _You do_ , so don’t worry about these things…”

“I know it.” With shaking hands, he tucks the needle safely between the threads of his jacket and sets it aside. “Gilbert, I’m sorry. I-I think I’ve always known, at the back of my mind. But I was mired in denial because the _memories_ were all so real, I couldn’t, I didn’t want to admit—” he chokes off into a sob and Gilbert shushes him, reaching up to cradle Hanneman’s head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry…”

A visceral sense of fear crashes over him when Gilbert realises that Hanneman truly believes that he’s a synth. It’s not fear for his own safety, no, but for Hanneman’s happiness. Synths are targeted with a hatred that appals him, and to think that Hanneman would be subjected to more malice like he’d endured today…? Gilbert can vow to protect him but what good had that done for his wife and child?

But for now…

“It doesn’t matter. Hanneman, do you hear me?” Gilbert whispers fervently. “Even if you’re a synth, you’ll always be the same person.”

“You deserve b-better,” he hiccups miserably. Dampness seeps into Gilbert’s shirt. “You deserve a real human, not a facsimile of one. It all makes sense now, why I’m so odd.”

“Are you crying?” Gilbert asks lowly, pushing Hanneman back gently so he can hold his beloved’s face in his hands. “That’s human. You’re just as real as me.” He wipes away the tear tracks with his thumbs, smoothing the moisture away, but more tears shine in Hanneman’s eyes as he meets Gilbert’s soft gaze. “Need I remind you of how you got this injury? You had jumped in front of an attack meant for _me._ If that isn’t something utterly human and utterly kind, I do not know what it is. I won’t abandon you.”

Beneath the meticulously trimmed line of his moustache, Hanneman’s lip wobbles. “You are a far more open-minded man than many, dear Gilbert. I’ve been so very afraid but it seems that I should have had more faith in you.”

Gilbert smiles wanly as he smooths his hands down those handsome shoulders and starts kneading at the tensed muscles. “I have not given you much cause to trust me. In this matter, at least. Hanneman, I assure you, this changes nothing. If this means that you have a better chance of surviving, then I’m glad.”

That gets a small, wet chuckle. “Ever practical, Gilbert.” Beneath tear-damp lashes, he sneaks a glance up at him from the corner of his eyes. “Kiss me?”

“Gladly,” Gilbert murmurs, leaning in to press his lips against Hanneman’s. A gentle touch to seal their bond again.

**Author's Note:**

> They are both very soft and squishy :')


End file.
